The White Wolf Who Guarded The North
by TheeDarkkReddLegionn
Summary: After losing his wife, he never thought someone that was close to him would be buried. That was until his son William Stark had been infected with the Grey Plague, a faster and more deadly disease than Greyscale. He had given up hope and though of killing his son to free him of his pain. That was until a familiar face with amber, cat like eyes appeared. "Ser Vesemir?"
1. Chapter 1

The Warden of the North sighed in comfort as he sat down in his chair. Reports were done for the day and he was granted a moment of rest by Maester Walys. A three taps against his door made a small groan jump from the back of his throat.

"Enter!" His voice commanding as it was annoyed. The wooden door opened, letting in the cold northern air, clashing against the warmness of the room. Maester Walys Flowers walked slowly into the room.

The Maester was around two-and-sixty short, balding hair that had turned white and thinned with age. He wore a dark brown robe made of wool with numerous sleeves not clearly visible. The Maester kindly, but sadly, spoke.

"My Lord, your son's condition…" He trailed off, angry at his failure as a Maester to help the Stark family. The Lord of Winterfell quickly understood and ran towards his son's room.

Entering the room, he found his son, William Stark, a boy of seven, with dark brown, almost black hair that fell to the top of his ears. His eyes were the Stark grey and were half-shut, sweat poured down his face as the boy's breath was laboured.

The reason?

His flesh from his right fingertips to the whole right side of his face was cracked and dead, stiff and looked like stone-scales. William had been infected with the Grey Plague, a virulent disease that turns its victims skin and insides into stone, though it is faster than Greyscale. However for some stupid, bloody reason not one piece of information mentioned the fact that Grey Plague actually hurt the victims. Even children have a higher chance of dying from it.

"Lord Rickard? Your cloth and gloves." He heard Maester Walys' voice behind him. He turned to see his Maester holding out a pair of rough leather gloves and a equally leather cloth. Walys having another pair that covered his hands and lower half of his face. He gritted his teeth, he couldn't even touch his son anymore viciously snatched the two objects from the Maester's grasp. Rickard looked down at the leather and covered his hands and face with them. He walked over to his son's bed, noting that there was only just his son's bed in the room with multiple furs covering the boy, like the boy's body was being smothered.

"...Father?" The broken, innocent voice of his son almost cracked the icy face of Rickard Stark. He quickly sat down on a wooden chair, shifted it so he was next to his his son's head.

"I'm here son. Are you alright?" Rickard quietly asked. William just grew a boisterous smile to hide his pain.

"I'm a wolf father, I won't let something like this kill me." William chuckled before wheezing for a moment until he roughly coughed. Rickard just grabbed a heavy cup and jug of water. He filled the cup with the water and gave carefully held it over his son's mouth. The water flowed out of the cup and into William's mouth. The boy drank the liquid and laid back down with tears falling down his eyes. His happy facade quickly broke.

"I'm sorry father!" He screamed, Rickard just watched with tears appearing in his own eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not strong enough! I can't touch you, hug you, or Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen! I can't even remember mother's kisses or hugs!" His face was a waterfall of tears and snot flowed from one of his nostrils. "I just don't want to die!" He finished as he covered his face with the back of his hands. His cries filled the room, echoing back at the boy and his father, reminding them of the fate William has. Walys looked from the door, tears quietly climbing down his face.

The two stayed in the room until Rickard could get his son to sleep with Milk of the Poppy. They exited the room after burning the pairs of cloth and gloves. Rickard angrily walked back towards his room with Walys obediently following behind him. Before they entered the Lord of Winterfell turned his head towards the Maester, with his eyes showing the anger of a wolf.

"Don't come in Maester. I won't be in a good mood." He calmly said with a growl present in his voice. Walys nodded quickly, fearing what would happen if he didn't follow that order. Rickon entered his room and shut the door.

Rickard walked towards his desk and leaned over it with his hands propping himself up. It wasn't a minute later until he flipped his table onto its side. A loud ' _BANG!_ ' filled the room. The papers cascading onto the floor, splashing the area with noises of the crinkles of papers.

"AHHHHH!" He roared with all of his might, his frustration, his anger and his shame at not able to save his son made his roar even more terrifying to the people outside listening to the Lord's pain.

* * *

 **Down The Kingsroad**

A black destrier trotted along the Kingsroad carrying numerous satchels and sacks along its saddle. Above it, was a figure covered in a hooded, midnight black robe and black leather gloves with black boots visible under the robe.

"Hopefully it's not far now. I hope the boy can survive." The figure's voice was masculine with a slight rasp to it. The man in black continued down the road when the man lifted his head to reveal amber cat-like eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I made a mistake last chapter and called Rickard Stark, Rickon by mistake. I've gone back and changed it.**

 **Also his chapter is slow beyond belief. I think it's because I've been reading the ASOIAF books recently. And they are SLLOOOOWWW builders.**

 **And before you ask 'Why don't you do a Witcher x A Song Of Ice And Fire crossover then?'. First because I haven't finished them and two, I am more familiar with the TV Show than the books.**

* * *

Rickard finally decided to do it. He would forever be known as Rickard 'The Kinslayer' but he didn't want to see his son suffer anymore. With a heavy mind and an even heavier heart, he grabbed a bottle of Sweetsleep. A poison that is painless, a mercy that William deserves. He walked out of his room where Rickard found two of his guards staring at him with eyes full of understanding and pity. Rickard gritted his teeth.

' _How dare they?! They don't know what it's like to kill your son as a mercy!'_ He roared in his mind. The Lord of Winterfell paid them not a second thought and marched over to his son's room. No one followed him, his guards stayed behind as if knowing what Rickard was roaring in his mind. As he walked, Rickard could feel everyone's pitiful stare: the servants, the guards, the blacksmith's. Everyone. And it pissed him off.

He couldn't save his wife, and now he couldn't save his son. What did he do to the old gods caused them to curse his family? He opened his son's door only to draw the longsword at his left waist. The blade was pointed at figure dressed in a black robes, similar to a Maester's robes, only it was hooded and it covered the figure's face. Despite Rickard was going to mercy kill his son, the sight of a stranger in black, an assassin's colours at that, above his child brought his protective instincts to light.

"Away from him assassin!" Rickard screamed and threw a sloppy downward slash towards The Assassin. However, the figure moved like lightning, a small steel dagger fell from his left sleeve and into his hand. The Assassin parried Rickard's longsword towards the window, away from William, before flipping the dagger into an inverted grip and thrusting the small pommel into Rickard's stomach. Driving the air from him, the Lord of Winterfell fell to his knees, dropping his sword and the bottle onto the floor. The bottle of Sweetsleep rolling harmlessly across the floor. Rickard had never seen an attack like that. The figure in black ' _tsked_ ' before the sagger disappeared back up the figure's sleeve, The 'Assassin' turned to face the kneeled Lord of Winterfell.

"I thought I taught you better than that Rickard Stark." The 'Assassin's' voice was familiar to Rickard, so much that the Warden of the North shot his head upwards to stare at the figure.

"Ser Vesemir?" He questioned, his head filled with confusion, but was quickly replaced with relief as the figure threw his hood back. Showing Rickard a middle-aged man with grey long hair, but his hairline was falling back, his eyes amber and cat-like.

The man smiled kindly at Rickard. "It is good to see you again Rickard. Though I hoped in a better way." Vesemir quietly said as he turned back to William, who now was starting to wake up. Rickard looked down in shame but he felt Vesemir's hand on his shoulder.

"You have not failed Rickard Stark, never forget that." Vesemir comforted Rickard who just nodded. He stood up to his feet and looked at the bottle of Sweetsleep. He still thought of mercy killing his son before he realised why Ser Vesemir was here.

"Have you found a cure for…?" He trailed off, not sure to finish the question as Vesemir sighed.

"I have something that could help. Except…" Vesemir sighed again, unsure how to tell him something but continued. "The treatment I have might kill the boy."

Rickard twisted his head to look at Vesemir with betrayal slowly forming in his eyes. "What do you mean 'kill the boy'?!" His voice angry and almost heartbroken. He was about to continue when he heard his son cough. Now looking at his son, Rickard again cursed that he didn't have his gloves or leather cloth. He went to go get the himself a pair when he saw in the corner of his eye, Vesemir stroked the boy's head. Rickard was about to raise his voice but remembered that Vesemir wouldn't get infected. He never got infected.

William's eyes opened halfway and saw a stranger stroke his head. He tried to move away from the stranger fearing for his life.

"It's okay son." William turned his grey eyes to see his father walk up to sit beside the bed with his gloves and half-mask on.

"F-Father? W-Who is th-this?" He stuttered through the pain. Rickard looked at his son with a smile.

"Don't worry, he's an old friend. He even trained me into a swordsmanship." Rickard told his son who looked shocked. The boy turned to Vesemir but had asked a question.

"S-Ser, why are you stroking my head? You'll get the Grey Plague." William warned Vesemir who just kindly smiled at the boy.

"It's okay my young Lord. I won't be infected." Vesemir told the boy. William looked confused at that statement before a look of understanding covered the boy's face.

"Oh, did you have the Grey Plague?" William asked as Vesemir quickly answered.

"Something like that?" Rickard knew Vesemir lied to his son, but said nothing as it clearly helped his son. Though he needed to continue his talk with Vesemir.

"Vesemir? I think we need to continue what we were talking about in another room." He not-so-subtly told his old teacher. However to his annoyance, Vesemir shook his head.

"No Rickard. What I told you must be told to William. I must have his consent otherwise I will not perform the treatment." Vesemir continued to look down at William, who now was confused even more.

"What treatment? Wh-Wha-What are you talking abou-" William stopped as his chest compressed violently of loud coughs. Vesemir silently and quickly moved a cup of water to his son's lips.

"It is a treatment that can cure your Grey Plague." William's eyes grew in happiness but was quickly shut down by Vesemir. "However, there is a high chance of you dying a painful death. This treatment will change your body but even if it's successful, you will never be the same again. You will be something...not fully human." Vesemir warned William who stared at the man, with terror filling his mind and body. Rickard quickly walked over to Vesemir and grabbed him by the collar of his robe. Rickard threw Vesemir across the room, towards the door, the wolfsblood of the Starks lit up like a storm on his face.

"How dare you?! That is not a treatment! That's a curse not worth living?" He howled like a wolf at his old teacher, betrayal clear in his eyes. Vesemir stood straight up and had disappointment in his eyes. Like a father looking at his son's dishonourable actions. Rickard wasn't finished and howled some more. "Go away Vesemir before I kill you myself! Go awa-" He was interrupted by his son saying three simple words.

"I'll do it."

Rickard stopped with shock on his face. His face frozen in horror and kept that way as he turned towards his son. William stared back with confident and defying eyes, knowing that his father would refuse the offer, he just smiled fondly at him and spoke. "Father, I know what you were going to do. That bottle over there is obvious. You and Maester Walys gave me hope where no one else would. I hardly know Lyanna or Benjen, Brandon and Eddard will forget me in time. It's better trying a treatment that will save my life, than wait for me to die painfully." He finished as he convinced his father.

Rickard didn't know what to say. How could he? His son was choosing to become something not human. To be preyed on by the peasants, insulted behind his back. Rickard would've rather died than be less than human.

' _Then I guess my own son is braver than me.'_ He concluded in his head before nodding to Vesemir. His old teacher reciprocated the nod with his own.

"Since he has consented. I must ask you to find a place were no one can disturb us...where no one will hear us for miles around." Vesemir told the Lord of Winterfell. He was confused, why did he need a silent place but thought of the perfect place.

"The Godswood. So William can be healed in the eyes of the old gods." Vesemir just smiled in amusement and calmly walked over to William, wrapped him in the furs, before picking the infected boy up by putting his arms under his knees and shoulders.

They left the room, not bothering to cover William's head, gaining curious eyes from the servants and guards. Everyone thought that Rickard was going to kill his son to stop his pain, but when he exited the room with a middle-aged man carrying his rather alive son. They couldn't help but stare.

Rodrick Cassel walked up to Rickard. "Milord. What's going on?" He asked, unsure what was happening. Rickard stared down at the new man-at-arms of Winterfell.

"Ser Rodrik. Make sure no one follows us, we are going to the godswood to pray to the old gods, and hope that they save my son." Rickard ordered his man-at-arms who nodded with honour and went to carry out his order. Rickard and Vesemir continued through Winterfell before silently entering the three acre forest called the Godswood by the first Starks of Winterfell.

Walking through the godswood felt like a thousand years to Rickard. The thought of seeing your son dying in pain hurt his soul. Along the way he glanced at his son numerous times to make sure Vesemir didn't do anything to his son. His trust in Vesemir broken.

They arrived.

The snow white tree with blood red leaves stood out against the tall oak trees with green leaves. The ground was muddy with wet moss and the occasional grass dotting the area around the white tree.

The white tree was called a weirwood tree by the Children of the Forest and had a frowning face drawn into it, a red sap dripping from the eyes as if it was crying blood.

"Were are you putting him?" He questioned Vesemir.

"Anywhere is fine." His old teacher responded. Vesemir silently walked towards the weirwood tree with a stoic face that any Stark would applaud. Not a sliver of emotion passed his defences. He stood in front of the tree and stared at the 'face' of the tree; as if he tried to move it with his thoughts. Before Rickard could say a word, Vesemir dropped to a knee and helped the young, sickly boy to his feet. William stood shakily on his feet for the first time in seven moons, his legs comparably to skinny sticks, but fell quickly. Rickard moved to catch his son, not remembering his son's disease. Just like before however, Vesemir moved like lightning to catch William.

The infected boy was being held up by Vesemir, and he wiggled his toes. The dry mud and fallen leaves were rough but to William it looked like he was given a thousand toys to play with. His innocent and happy giggle brought a smile to Rickard's face. He hadn't heard his child laugh since Lyarra died bringing Benjen into the world. Vesemir even grew a small smile at the sound of a child's laughter, but it quickly fell into a thin line.

"Now," His old teacher started. "For the treatment to take effect, you must drink two potions one after the other, without stopping. If you do, you will die. Do you understand my young lord?" William nodded to the question, ready to either die in pain from the disease, die in pain from a potion or live as something not completely human. Vesemir's right hand reached into his robe and grabbed something; his arm moved out of his robe to reveal two large glasses of weird proportions. There was a piece of wood that stopped any liquid from flowing out of the glasses, a small tube that was an inch and a half in length, and finally a large bulbous bottom the size of William's small hand if it was turned into a closed fist. On thing that did catch Rickard's eye were the colours of the liquid. One was the same tine of orange like Vesemir's but the other was a disgusting sickly green. William noticed the sickly green potion and paled even more.

"I'm not going to lie but these will be the most horrid thing you will ever taste," Vesemir warned. "and the pain that you will endure will be of the highest level." William still had his pale face and gulped nervously. He tried to build up courage but it was obvious he was failing.

"William, you don't have to do this?" Rickard tried to reason with his son; however William payed him no mind and kept his gaze on the eyes of Vesemir. William asked.

"Which one do I drink first?"

"Drink the orange, then quickly drink the green one." Vesemir replied. William nodded and quickly uncorked the amber potion before drinking the glass dry.

William made a noise of pain as he dropped the glass, he bent over and held his stomach. William's head was pulled back by Vesemir and the green liquid was forced down his throat.

"I told you to quickly drink one after the other! Did you not hear me boy!?" Vesemir chastised the boy while howling at him. The potion disappeared down William's throat, and as Vesemir dropped the glass, the diseased son of Winterfell had indeed fallen to the muddy ground. His boy had curled, with his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.

"AHHHHHH! ARGHHHH!" William screamed and screamed towards the heavens. He thrashed in his position, his arms now moving against his body, scratching it with his nails. Sweat poured down the boy's head and tears fell from his closed eyes.

"Will!"

Rickard turned around, shock and horror struck his face, his four other children: Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen. They ran towards them, towards their brother. It would have brought a smile to Rickard's face if not for the potions. He grabbed all four of them, his adult frame large enough to lock them in a tight embrace.

"No! You must not grab him!" He ordered his children, the Grey Plague was still visible on William's face. Vesemir stood frozen like a tree as he stared down at the thrashing boy.

"Father! He's dying!" Rickard's oldest son Brandon tried to escape his father's grip alongside his siblings. However he was too young, and therefore too weak to free himself. The other stark pups were in the predicament as well.

"AHHHH! AH! URGHHHH! ARGHHHHHH!" William still screamed, though his voice was turning hoarse. He now started to thrash around in a more erratic manner; his body twisting and turning, and bending like an agile performer. William turned so his back was facing his family and his body curled one finally time. His knees to his chest but his head was facing towards his chest, and his hands were pushing his head further inwards. Obstructing his head from the worried pack.

He stopped thrashing.

Rickard looked towards his unmoving son before turning to Vesemir with a stern, questioning gaze. The middle-aged man knelt down to William and put two of his fingers on the boy's neck. He did the same to William's right wrist.

Vesemir sighed in relief. Lifting Rickard's spirit. The amber eyed man looked up with a small relieved smile.

"He's alive. I guess the wolf is strong." Rickard was too happy at the information and unconsciously let go of his four children. Taking their chance they ran towards William, shouting his name. The sound of four worried siblings turned quiet, making Rickard worry. He ran up to them before kneeling and lifted up his son to a sitting position. It was until Rickard saw what happened to William that he also recoiled slightly. His eyes full of shock and his mouth open.

William's dark brown, almost black, Stark hair had turned to the colour of snow. It was similar to the royal family's hair but was a shade or two different from their light blonde hair.

The one thing that made Rickard surprised was the Grey Plague.

It was gone. Not a single dried, flaked skin covered his face or neck. He lifted the large pelt covering to see no Grey Plague on William's arm.

"William? William! Wake up." Brandon pleaded, shaking his brother, his eyes watering. Vesemir walked over and picked up William again.

"It's okay my young lord. Your brother is cured of his plague. The treatment just put him in a deep sleep." Vesemir explained. The siblings of wolves stared at their transformed brother with worry, the alpha of the pack glancing at Vesemir, silently ordering.

' _We are talking about this.'_

Vesemir answered the unheard order with a nod, and walked back towards Winterfell with William snoozing calmly for the first time in a year. The rest followed.

* * *

 **Alright that's the second chapter. What do you think? This is actually different from what I normally do. Because this is a slow start. However the story will quicken with only important history moments appearing later.**


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